


Bite the Bullet

by aeoleus



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Suicidal Thoughts, mentioned death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 15:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: Theodosia's dead, little Theodosia won't stop crying, and Aaron can't seem to bring himself to even get out of the clothes he was in when she died. Something needs to change, and there's only one man Aaron knows who seems to be able to drag himself out of even the most horrific of grief.That's how Aaron finds himself on Alexander's doorstep at 2:30 AM.





	

“Aaron Burr, sir.” Alexander seemed surprised to see him as he swung open his front door. “It’s the middle of the night!” 

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” Aaron asked wearily. 

Alexander grinned, a sort of wicked, mischievous smile that he saw more often on his teenaged daughter than middle aged politicians. 

“No, Burr, I won’t. It’s yours for life. Now, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here or we going to keep discussing your unfortunately rhyme-able name?” 

 

Aaron stared down at the cobblestone. He wasn't sure why he was here himself. He only knew that he hadn't been able to get a real night’s sleep in six days, hadn't been able to work, eat. Hell, he hadn't bathed since last week and he hadn't changed his clothes since she... Anyway, for some reason, Aaron had an inkling Alexander could relate. He looked up again, at Alexander standing with his arms crossed in the doorway, fully dressed at 2:40 AM, ink splotches on his sleeves and glasses on his nose. 

“I need help, Alexander.” Aaron admitted quietly. 

Alexander seemed to study him for a split second, then nodded understanding. 

“Come on in, sir.” 

 

Alexander led him into his kitchen. 

“Sit down.” He nodded towards the table, where a child’s drawing of a house was sitting, pencils on the side.  _ Philip _ , if was signed. Aaron felt a twinge of something in his stomach. It had been three years since Philip had died. Three years since Alexander wandered Congress like a ghost, not quite there, but not able to go home, either. 

“My kid’s an artist, right?” Alexander said. He sat down across from Aaron and pushed a cup of coffee at him. 

“A good one at that. How old is little Phil, now?” 

“Two.” Alexander smiled tightly. “And how’s Theodosia?” 

Aaron’s throat closed up. He knew exactly which Theodosia Alexander was talking about, but apparently his brain didn't. 

“She’s fine,” he choked out. “Doing well in her studies.” 

_ And I miss her mother like I would miss half of my soul.  _

He reached for the coffee that Alexander had given him, if just for something to do with his hands, and found himself choking on what could only be described as liquid tar. 

“What the hell is in this, Alexander?” He sputtered. 

Alexander shrugged. 

“I was writing. I needed to stay awake.” 

“Won't be awake if you stop your heart.” Aaron muttered. 

“What was that? Sorry, my hearing's been going the same way as my eyesight lately.” 

“Nothing.” Aaron smiled and curled his hands around the mug. 

“So,” Alexander took a large sip of the coffee and didn't even flinch. “What can I do for you?” 

“I-” What  _ was _ he doing here? At his enemy's home, sipping coffee late at night? Was Aaron really about to ask him about- “I need help.” 

“You need help.” Alexander repeated pointedly. 

“Uh, yes?”  

“With what? I blew through my political capital a long time ago and I  _ know  _ you know that.” 

“I-It’s not a bill. Not policy.” 

“Then what? You don't want to me ghostwrite something for you?” 

“No.”

 

It was silent for a moment. Aaron couldn't look up. He just stared at the drawing on the table, at the stick figures in the yard. He was pretty sure the one in green with big glasses was supposed to be Alexander.

 

“Aaron.” Alexander said gently. 

Aaron looked up, startled.  In the thirty years he had known him, not once had he heard Alexander use his first name. 

“What’s going on?” 

Aaron cleared his throat. “Uh, as you know, I lost my wife-” His voice cracked. “-a while ago.” 

“I did know. May she rest in peace. Theodosia was a good woman.”

“Better than good. She was the best. Best of wives. Best of women.” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Aaron.” 

“Me too. I’m here because. Well, because, I can't sleep, Alexander.” Aaron laughed, though it really wasn't funny. “I can't sleep, I can't eat. I can barely look my daughter in the face.” 

 

Alexander stared at him for a moment, chin resting on his fist. 

 

“When Philip died, I didn’t eat for a week.” He said finally. Aaron remembered that well. He had passed Alexander in the Senate one day a few weeks after his son’s death. Alexander had his arms full of papers and books. His hair was falling from its hold, and dark circles rounded his bloodshot eyes. His clothing was hanging off his form. He had looked, to put it simply, how Aaron now felt. 

“How did you start eating again?” Aaron asked quietly. 

Alexander shrugged. 

“James climbed in my lap one day. He had an apple in his hand. Philip’s favorite. He gave it to me, and I knew I couldn't just waste away.”

“But how do you  _ do _ it?”

Aaron could feel his eyes stinging, Goddamnit.  _ Talk less,  _ his brain reminded him.  _ Don't let him know what you’re for.  _ Aaron told his brain to shut the hell up. “All that I want to do is lay in bed. There's nothing for me any more. No light in this world.” 

 

Alexander didn't respond for a while. He just stared intently at Aaron. Aaron noticed some crow’s feet he hadn't seen before, some white breaking up the black of Alexander’s hair. They were growing older, the two of them. They weren’t the same college kids who drunkenly argued politics in Fraunces Tavern, not by a long shot. 

 

“You just do it.” Alexander said finally, leaning back in his chair.  “Eventually, it gets easier. It gets easier to get up and dress yourself, eat breakfast, and go to work without wanting to throw yourself off of a bridge. It does get easier. But you have to do it every day for it to get easier, and that's the hard part. There's no shortcut to grief, Aaron. You have to remember that Theodosia is still here, and Theodosia still loves you. What would she do if you died with your wife?” 

 

Words had always been Alexander’s strength. Aaron was almost as adept, but he never had that ability to string them together on the spot. That's why they were still sitting in silence when a curly-haired, freckled child appeared in the doorway, a ghost of his older brother.  

“Daddy?” 

He went over to Alexander, who immediately picked him up and placed him on his lap. 

“What’s wrong, Phil?” Alexander asked. 

“I had a nightmare.” Phil threw his arms around Alexander and hid his face in his neck. “You died, Daddy. Somebody hurt you. I didn't like it!” 

Alexander met Aaron's eyes and suppressed a smile, stroking Phil’s curls.

“Well, kiddo, I can promise you I'm not going anywhere. But I’ll tell you what, after Mr. Burr leaves, I’ll tuck you in again, okay?” 

“But when will that be?” Phil stuck his lip out and Aaron could only think of Theodosia, sobbing on her bedroom floor after Aaron had told her about her mother. 

“Right now.” Aaron stood up. “Thanks for the advice, Alexander.” He pulled his jacket back on and walked out the front door. 

“Wait, Aaron!” 

Aaron turned around. Alexander was in the doorway, toddler perched on his hip. 

“I’m always here, Aaron. I know we’ve fought on like 75 different fronts when it comes to politics, but this is different. If you need me, I'm here. Regardless of what we’re currently fighting about.” 

Aaron smiled tightly and nodded. 

“Thank you, Alexander.” 

Aaron waved at the shy toddler who only put his face into Alexander’s neck again, and walked down the steps. The cobblestones were illuminated only by the single streetlight on the corner, and Aaron began to walk home, where a bed with a cold side, an empty place at the table, and a mourning daughter, was waiting. 

 


End file.
